Catlin's Bath
by moviemom44
Summary: Fergus plays matchmaker for Conor and Catlin with amazing results. Rated M for graphic sexual content. OK, people, 100 hits so far and not one measly review? Even if you can't say anything nice, say something. Please?


Author's note: I do not own any of the characters in "Roar". This is not related to any particular episode, but was my take on how Conor and Catlin might finally get together. I thought about rewriting it to make it more of a T rating, but decided to let the M rating stand. So for those of you who take the extra step and search out these stories, thanks for reading. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated.

Catlin's Bath

by

Moviemom44

Watching Conor leave his chamber and head for the sanctuary's waterfall, Fergus knew this was his chance. He and Conor would be leaving in the morning for the island's eastern shore and would be gone several days. If he was going to pull this off, it would have to be tonight.

Earlier, Fergus and Conor had shared a bowl of Molly's now famous "when-in-doubt" stew with Molly and Catlin. During the meal, Fergus had heard Catlin tell Molly that she felt like she needed a bath before turning in for the night. All he had to do now was get the timing right.

As Fergus made his way down the trail toward the waterfall from camp, he looked up and saw Conor dive naked into the pool from a rock platform that jutted out from the side of the waterfall about ten feet above the surface of the pool. A little further down the trail and Fergus could see where Conor had dropped his clothes haphazardly in the grass at the base of the diving ledge.

Conor swam across the pool toward the place where the water was shallow enough to stand in. Fergus quickly ducked into the trees and froze, expecting Conor to emerge from the pool a mere five feet from where he stood. Instead, Conor turned and swam back to the waterfall, diving under the surface and coming up behind the cascade, oblivious to the older man's presence.

Fergus knew he'd have to be quick and quiet if his plan was going to work. With the stealth of a hungry hunter, he slipped through the trees surrounding the pool until he reached the place where Conor's clothes lay. After a fast check to make sure Conor was under water, he snatched the pile and dove back into the trees. Sneaking back down the trail toward the camp, he ran into his daughter, Molly.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" demanded the Druid novice, eying the clothing Fergus carried.

"Giving a certain slowpoke a shove in the right direction." Fergus replied, "and getting a good laugh in the bargain."

"And what does that mean? Have you—." Her last question went unasked as Fergus jerked her down to crouch beside him, a finger to his lips to signal her to be quiet. Coming through the trees just to the right of the father-daughter team was Catlin, dressed in a bright blue full-length robe and carrying a bar of lavender scented soap.

Molly's eyes grew wide and she glared accusingly at her father as the intent of his mischief suddenly became apparent.

"Is this why you asked me when Catlin said she would be taking her bath? I couldn't imagine why you would care. She has no idea Conor's down there and now you've gone and ….stolen….his…clothes," Molly said, nearly strangling on her stifled giggles. Fergus was smiling now, too, relieved that Molly's initial indignation hadn't caused her to alert Catlin to his shenanigans.

"Who appointed you matchmaker around here?" Molly asked, still incredulous that her father was taking such an interest in furthering Conor and Catlin's relationship.

"The lad needs this and so does Catlin, for that matter. Besides, I'm the one who talked Conor into pretending to fall for you so we could trap Longinus. Catlin got hurt in the process and she didn't deserve that. They love each other, Molly, but for some reason they haven't been able to take the next step, so I'm giving them a little push. In a way, I owe them this," Fergus said.

"I just hope they'll forgive you for this, when all is said and done" Molly whispered.

"I hope there's a lot less said than done," Fergus answered, grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, you'll never know, will ya? You surely don't expect to watch, now, do ya?"

"Er..yes, I mean, not the whole time, but just long enough to make sure they see each other."

"Sweet Bridget! I think I feel the need for a bath coming on myself," Molly said and started to rise from her hiding place in the bushes.

"No, wait!" Fergus snapped, pulling her back down beside him. "Alright, lass, I'll –_we'll_ go and leave them alone. Just please be quiet." As the two of them headed back to camp, Molly smiled silently and crossed her fingers.

Conor surfaced and shook the water from his blond hair, just enough to loosen the curls that framed his tanned face. Looking at his reflection in the water, he took stock of himself, trying to see what others might. At first glance, he looked much younger than his 20 years. The challenges of leading the Confederation of Tribes had yet to leave their mark on his boyish face. He thought his features looked a bit soft, in fact, and much to his chagrin, he noticed a scattering of freckles across his nose.

_No wonder the older clan leaders don't take me seriously, freckle-faced boy that I am, _he thought to himself. But, in truth, he knew better. It wasn't his sun-kissed nose that most people noticed when they looked at Conor, but rather the courage shining in his deep brown eyes. By accepting a destiny he did not choose, he found the strength to carry the faith of his people without being crushed under the weight of their confidence in his leadership. He bore it well most days, but every now and then, he wished he could strip off the mantle as carelessly as he had shed his clothes to go swimming.

And now it was time to find his clothes and return to camp. He would need a good night's sleep, since he and Fergus were leaving in the morning to visit a coastal village that they hoped would be willing not only to provide information about approaching Roman ships but also to close its ports to discourage their arrival. As he was about to push himself out of the water and up on shore, he heard a twig snap and slipped quickly back into the pool.

The sound had come from the direction of the path that led from the main encampment to the water's edge. Soon he heard branches rustling and leaves crunching and knew he was no longer alone.

He swam as quietly as he could to the edge of the pool nearest the waterfall, and scanned the grass for his clothes but couldn't see them. Now what? Oh, well, there was nothing to do but climb out and hunt for them. Conor hoisted himself onto the shore and dashed for the bushes like a rabbit running from the hunter's arrow.

Once he had achieved as much cover as he could manage, he turned to see who was approaching. _If it's Fergus or Tully, I'm saved_, he thought. But it wasn't Fergus or Tully. In fact, it wasn't even a fellow man.

Catlin stopped on the other side of a row of shrubs that stood about five feet high and eight feet wide that served as a sort of natural screen where those who swam or bathed at the waterfall would undress. Without looking into the water, she stripped off her robe, laid it on the bushes and strode buck naked into the open grass at the edge of the pool. In her left hand was a bar of soap, which she carried with her as she waded into the water.

As soon as he realized who she was, Conor started to call out to let her know that she wasn't alone. But he quickly remembered his own predicament and clamped his mouth shut tight, trying not to move or even breathe, lest she hear him and then all hell would break loose.

He had no choice but to stay put until she finished her bath, and even then, he'd have to wait the half hour or so until dark to sneak back into camp without showing off his "mysteries," as Fergus often put it.

Catlin's mysteries were becoming all too familiar as Conor tried not to stare, but couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was standing hip-deep in the pool, the water just barely covering the mound of soft brown curls that she was lathering with the soap. After a moment, Conor realized that her gentle rubbing was becoming more purposeful and that her fingers were lingering between her legs for longer than it took to get oneself clean. Conor sat stunned as he watched her left hand, covered in lavender-scented bubbles, slither its way up her taught belly and begin teasing the nipple of her right breast. As she made soapy circles around both breasts, he thought he heard her moaning quietly and when Catlin's knees began to buckle, so did his and he fell over into the bushes.

Just then, Catlin sank completely under the water, so she never heard Conor fall. He recovered himself before she surfaced, but not before suffering several scratches in his nether regions. It was all he could do to keep still and more than he could bear to look away.

Brushing her long light brown hair away from her face, she stayed breast-deep in the water this time while she washed her hair. Then she tossed the soap onto the grass before bending over backwards to rinse, arching her back so that her breasts pointed directly toward heaven. A more fitting juxtaposition Conor could not imagine.

The day had ended and the full moon had risen while Catlin was in the pool. As she floated, eyes closed, on the surface of the water, her wet skin glowed in the moonlight and Conor thought she looked like a goddess from one of the ancient poems Galen used to recite, all grace and power and heartbreaking beauty.

With darkness falling, Conor was just starting to think he might get out of the grotto with most of his honor intact, when Catlin turned and swam straight for the spot where he was hiding. As she neared the shore, he tried to crouch down even further, willing his six-foot-two-inch frame to shrink into the six-inch grass, but it was no use. He might as well stand up and take it like a man.

Unfolding to his full height, Conor looked like a Roman statue rising out of the earth. Catlin screamed as she dove under the water to hide from the apparition and swallowed a mouthful of water. She was up a second later, choking and sputtering so much that Conor dove in after her, afraid she might drown.

Conor tried to wrap his arms around her to keep her head above water, but she was flailing and kicking so hard, he had to duck to avoid getting punched.

"Catlin! Catlin! It's me, Conor! Hold still! You're choking!" he yelled.

At last, she stopped moving and let him lead her out of the water onto the grass near where she left her robe. When he laid her down on the grass, she was shaking uncontrollably.

"Wait here, I'll get your robe," he said.

"Where's yours?" Catlin said through chattering teeth.

"What? Oh, yes, well, it's a long story," Conor said, sounding more casual than he felt.

He retrieved the robe and helped her into it. Then he sat down behind her and wrapped his arms around her, mostly to keep her warm, but partly so she wouldn't have to look at him if she didn't want to. This was bound to get embarrassing and it did, quickly.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, a mixture of anger and panic in her voice.

"I was sort of hoping we could save that question for later," Conor answered, sheepishly.

"You were here the whole time, weren't you? Watching me, and you were NAKED! What were you doing, Conor?" she shrieked.

"Not what you're thinking! Catlin, you know me better than that. I'm not some filthy animal. I came for a swim and my clothes got ….misplaced," he explained.

"Misplaced? How?"

" I don't know. I dropped them on the grass by the diving ledge and when I came back for them they were gone. I was looking in the bushes for them when I heard you coming. I tried to call out to you, but it was too late, you had already dropped your robe and headed for the water. I thought I could just stay hidden and wait until you were through, but you seemed to be taking your time, enjoying yourself…." Conor let the thought finish itself in her mind, while his raced back to the image of her all soft and soapy in the center.

"Oh, no, Conor…" Catlin groaned, steeped in shame. "Do you have any respect left for me at all?"

"Cat, of course I do. If anyone should be ashamed, it's me. I should have told you I was there, but I couldn't see how without embarrassing both of us. I decided to wait until you went back to camp and then I'd sneak back in the dark, but you came back and swam straight for where I was hiding. I thought you were going to find me any minute, so I just stood up," Conor explained.

The next thing he knew, Catlin was laughing hysterically.

"Well, I didn't think I looked that funny," he said, a little hurt.

"No, not you. Me. My face when I saw you rise up out of the grass…must have been…hilarious!" she laughed.

"Aye, I don't think I've ever seen you so scared," Conor said, and did a quick impersonation of Catlin's shocked expression, complete with high-pitched shriek. Both of them collapsed into fits of laughter.

When they caught their breath, Conor once again wrapped his arms around Catlin and rested his chin on her shoulder. She snuggled into his embrace, closed her eyes, leaned her head back on his chest and sighed.

"So, what did you think?" Catlin asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Of what?" Conor replied.

"Of me, silly."

Conor turned to whisper his answer directly into her ear, "I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

His words sent a warm shiver though Catlin's entire body. Suddenly every nerve was buzzing. Her nipples hardened and stood at attention, while the very center of her went all gooey, like warm honey. For an instant, she was afraid. She had never been with a man before and didn't know what Conor might expect of her. She turned to look into his eyes and found all the reassurance she needed.

Conor could feel her body's response right through her robe. His own feelings were swirling through him, like tornadoes, breaking down all his defenses, blasting apart all the reasons he'd manufactured for keeping Catlin at a distance.

He didn't even remember when her robe disappeared. He only knew that she was finally in his arms, kissing him, caressing him, holding nothing back.

"Oh, Conor, should we be….?" Catlin couldn't finish the thought, because Conor cut her off with "Yes" and a passionate kiss that erased all her insecurities about his feelings for her and about her own inexperience.

Catlin lay on her back on the grass, looking into Conor's eyes.

"Say it, Conor, please," she begged, hoping he understood what she meant.

"I love you, Catlin. I love you with all my heart," he assured her.

"I love you, too, Conor. I always have," she answered.

Their kiss was long, and deep and just the first taste of the banquet they made of each other's bodies.

Conor gently pushed Catlin's knees apart with his knee and groaned as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. As she arched her back, she presented her breasts to his lips and he bent to his work with gusto, licking and sucking each one in turn until Catlin cried out, "I need….I need something…Oh, Conor…"

He knew what they both needed and he raised up slightly onto his knees and centered his throbbing cock on her dripping wet folds and pushed -- slowly at first, until he felt her maidenhead give way, and then quickly, to replace the pain with pleasure.

Catlin had never felt such fulfillment and such yearning all at once. He filled her to her very core, but still somehow she knew there was more to come, a more devastating ecstasy to be achieved by matching his powerful thrusts with her own.

Conor was amazed at her strength, her determination to have every inch of him inside her again and again. She clawed at his ass with her fingernails. She devoured his lips with her own. At last, he felt her tense as the first wave of excruciating pleasure roared through her, followed by another and another, each more bone-crushing than the one before. Her satisfaction guaranteed, he stopped trying to delay his moment and felt a dizzying release the likes of which he had never thought possible. He slowed his movements and finally stopped, completely drained in every way.

After several minutes, Catlin regained her strength and disengaged her legs from Conor's waist. He carefully rolled off of her, gathering her in his arms as he stretched out on the grass. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart whispering her name as she drifted off to sleep. Conor lay awake for a long time, drinking in the aroma of her hair and her sweet breath as she dozed on his shoulder. He thought about how this evening had started and marveled at how it turned out and knew in his soul that nothing would ever be the same again. He fell asleep debating with himself about whether to kill Fergus or kiss him.

Catlin awoke to a familiar voice quietly calling her name. Not yet ready to let go of the beautiful dream she'd had about Conor making love to her, she smiled with her eyes closed, breathed a deep sigh and snuggled deeper into the folds of her robe. But the voice persisted.

"Catlin. Catlin, my love, wake up," Conor whispered. "Sit up now, please, and look at me."

"Conor?" she mumbled, sleepily, confused as to why he was waking her when it was obviously still the middle of the night. "Is something wrong?"

"No, love, but we should get back to our chambers before the rest of the sanctuary wakes and comes looking for us," he said, grinning.

"Back to our cha…?" Suddenly, Catlin sat bolt upright, her robe falling away and exposing her breasts to the night air. Grabbing at the robe to cover herself, Catlin jumped to her feet so quickly that her head swam. She'd have fallen if Conor hadn't caught her.

As she leaned into him, it all came flooding back, her bath and its aftermath. It hadn't been just a dream after all.

"Steady, there, Cat," Conor said, holding her close and stroking her hair. When he felt she had regained her legs, he let go and smiled down at her. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her left ear.

"Honestly? Like a new fawn trying to stand up for the first time," she said with tears welling up in her eyes.

"Oh, Catlin, don't cry, please. I know we're in uncharted territory here, but let's just take it one day at a time, shall we?" he said, drawing her into his arms again. He could feel her nodding her head against his chest.

"Alright. I guess that's all we…hey, wait a minute. When did you get dressed?" Catlin said, realizing for the first time that he was wearing his leather vest, breeks and boots.

"When I woke up, these were lying on the hedge above us. I'm guessing we had a visitor while we slept. They left your clothes, too," Conor said, handing her a knitted blouse and knee-length leather pants.

Ducking behind the hedge to get dressed, Catlin said, "I'll bet it was the same big, bald romantic who stole your clothes last night."

"When did you figure it out?" Conor asked.

"I'm not sure exactly, but no one else would have the nerve to pull something like that and expect to live to tell about it," she said, smiling.

"So, is he forgiven?"

"Of course. How could I be angry with him, when he gave us such a gift?" she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling up at him.

Conor grinned and leaned down to give her a quick kiss.

"But he doesn't have to know that he's forgiven right away. I think he deserves to squirm just a little, don't you?"

The End

Author's Postscript: Really, that thing about wanting reviews, I meant that. Please take a moment and let me know what you think.


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